


Heat

by HerbertBest



Category: Little Red Riding Hood (Fairy Tale), Little Red Riding Hood - All Media Types, Rotkäppchen | Little Red Riding Hood (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Bloodplay, Bruises, Celebration sex, Character Study, Cuts, F/M, Mentioned violence, Minor Violence, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, cuts and bruises, fireplay, mentioned gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 10:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16638302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerbertBest/pseuds/HerbertBest
Summary: After the wolf is dispatched, Red and the Huntsman get to know each other a little better.





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [captainellie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainellie/gifts).



> Red is roughly twenty-one at the time of the events in this fanfiction.

She takes a few minutes with her grandmother afterwards, once they’ve boiled the blood out of the sheets and washed the floor as best they can with their aching muscles and fervent minds. But the smell of blood is still in the air. It can’t be helped, and she knows they won’t be able to open the windows until spring arrives again.

A small price to pay for their lives.

The huntsman has taken the pelt and bones of the beast away, and she doesn’t think about what will be done with what is left of it until much later. Her grandmother is settled comfortably under the blankets and quilts and given something warm to drink, which she thirstily consumes. The bread and soup and treats Red bought are also consumed between them – with some small portion saved for the Huntsman – before her grandmother lies back with a sigh.

“That was,” she says, “quite an adventure.” Red can’t disagree with that fact. When her grandmother falls asleep she leaves the bedroom and heads to the main parlor. From the kettle in which the wolf had planned to boil her alive, she heats the water for a bath, pours it into her grandmother’s oversized ivory-colored porcelain tub, and then stripping off the bloody last rags of her dress, the sticky bits from her stocking and shoes. The former was going to be a total loss, the latter would need severe mending.

When the front door shoots open she shrieks and clutches her shift to her chest. 

It’s the woodsman. In his furs and with his beard, his big dark eyes peering out from sharp features, he’s impressively monstrous in appearance – and impressively frightening. 

Like a wolf. She shuts aside that thought.

But then again, comes the thought seductively - it’s a wolf she can command. More harshly than she means to, and to drive the thought from her once and for all, she says, “close the door.: He does so but doesn’t stop watching her. Instead he stares with a naked, animal hunger in his eyes. No, not just simple, animal hunger - there’s a kind of slack-jawed starving need on his face that she's never seen before; it peaks her nipples and causes heat so pulse slickly between her legs. It was so nice to be seen as much more than an accessory, an unnecessary spinster whose presence was lousing up the whole household with her tomboyish bookreading and scholarly experiments and childish adventuring – good for seeing her grandmother, taking care of her, but nothing else.

Her fingertips release the fabric of her gown. “Did you want a show?” she asks.

He swallows thickly, eyes bounding about as they search for a place to settle. “Is your grandmother fine?”

“Well enough. I cleaned up the mess you left behind,” she says. And because she wants to provoke, she pulls the bloody shift off and it joins the rest of her clothing on the floor. Naked, her deep brown skin rayed with flickers of bright firelight, she moves to step into the tub. “She’s asleep. I don’t want to make any noise.”

“Um…I…” He was sweating.

She sighs. “Take your jacket off,” she says. He does so, only looking away to unfasten his jacket. He’s as spattered with blood fresh from the kill as she is.

“If you want to share a bath with me,” she says, “I would be pleased to share it. I do owe you for all the good you’ve done.”

“A gentleman doesn’t invite himself into a lady’s bath.”

She laughs. “Are you a vampire? Must I invite you in first?”

“A gentleman doesn’t take a lady unaware.” Her heart lurches. “If you request I touch you, I will touch you. But if you don’t wish to be touched, then I will not lay a hand on you.”

Red considers his words. Then she extends her hand to him, fingers long and beckoning.

She doesn’t expect him to charge toward her. She doesn’t expect him to crush his lips against hers. She doesn’t expect to be lying under his strong body, her fingers scrambling for purchase along tacky cotton and through thick, long red hair for some sort of purchase. But she does, and is.

She moans into his mouth and kisses back as if she’s trying to attack him, accidentally biting his tongue. He breaks the kiss to latch on to her shoulder, and she pops bone buttons open while ripping off his shirt. He grunts and reaches down to unzip his fly, but thinks better of it – his fingers brush and scrape along her body instead, filling her head with pealing alarm bells of lust. He consumes as much of her breast as possible into the greedy hot suck of his mouth and she arches her back, nails raking down his back.

Red’s mouth splays open against his neck, her fingertips teasing along his long, flat belly and the solidity of his chest. A grunt of a response greets her, and when her lips find an open wound from the wolf’s claw on his shoulder she sends her tongue along it, still tasting blood.

His teeth score her nipple and she has to bite back a wail. Her own blood is on his lips as they slide lower.

When his fingers find her, she’s already wet. When she ruins the zipper holding his fly together, he falls, hard and hot, into her hand.

“Later,” he tells her. “Later.” And pulls away and rears over her, looming like a marauder ready to plunder. She arches her neck, her back, supine between his desire and hers.

And then he plunges his cock into her.

Red’s whole body has been waiting for this minute, this hour; though she doesn’t perfectly know the mechanics yet, the beat is easy enough to follow. They heave and thrust like two fighting bulls, staring at each other, adoring and fearing, lusting and vicious, all in the same gesture. She reaches between them to get herself there and he knocks away her hand, stroking the one place she needs to feel his touch so unerringly she comes quickly, harshly, upon the point of that relief. 

He opens his mouth to bellow but it dies in a whimper as he follows directly after her.

**** 

Afterwards, they tend to their wounds knee-to-knee in the lukewarm tub, carefully washing the blood from their bodies. He’s kind enough to drag the tub when they’re finished with it, and she’s kind enough to clean his clothing. They sit by the fire and have the last of the food and picnic lunch that she brought for her grandmother in contemplation.

“Your name,” she says abruptly.

“What?” he winces.

“I made love to you,” she says, “And I don’t know your name. My grandmother must have told you mine…”

“I’m so ordinary,” he says, shaking his head, his red hair swinging in its wet que. He picks up the candle that lit their way and dances it over the bareness of her arm, the coolness of the air and the superheat of the fire. The tip of the flame coasts along her wet shoulder and she shudders. There’s too much to be felt in these short minutes.

“Tell me your name,” she demands.

“It’s Jonathan. See? Ordinary,” he says. Then blows the candle out and returns it to the floor. “I must get home before my brother worries for me, and you have to be in bed before your grandmother wakens.”

“True,” she sighs. “I…thank you for tonight. In the daylight…”

He smiles and leans toward her. Clean and wholesome, they seem almost coquettish. “In the daylight we will see who we are,” he says.

When he leaves she watches his progress up the long pathway to her grandmother’s house for hours before retreating to bed. She’s afraid that when she sleeps she’s going to have nightmares about the massacre, the near-loss.

But when she dreams, she doesn’t dream of the wolf.


End file.
